Chapter FiveJasperShe’s adorable.
As I watch her trying to handle me, I can’t help but to smile.
So fucking pointless, but also pretty cute.
I bet she handled Brady effortlessly when she needed to. I underestimated her upon first impression. I took her as simple and maybe not all that bright, but in the last several minutes I just watched her come to terms with this kidnapping, overcome her completely reasonable panic, and then try to spin the narrative in an admirable attempt to outsmart me and get free.
I’ve never actually let anyone go who swore through a slimy haze of snot and tears that if I’d just let them go, they’d never tell anyone what I did to them. I assume they were all lying, though. Who the fuck wouldn’t tell? Nobody, that’s who. It’s the thing people say to get away when they know they can’t successfully fight their way out—then, if I decided to be merciful, they’d run as fast as they could to the police station and get my ass locked up.
I don’t think so, snowflake.
Nice try, though. I like a smart woman, so I’m happy to see mine thinking on her feet.
I guess smiling at her isn’t the right thing to do right now. Probably only serves to raise up her hopes, and I don’t like disappointing her.
Reining in my expression and slipping a more stoic one into place, I try to let her down easy. “I’m afraid not.”
Her face freezes—her eyes wide, her pretty little mouth forming an O of surprise like she can’t quite believe her well-reasoned “get out of jail free” card has been rejected.
I’m prepared for the surprise.
What I’m not prepared for is what she does next: burst into tears.
Maybe I should’ve expected that, I don’t know. I’m new to recreational kidnapping. The usual type of person I’d be sent to snatch would be the human equivalent of a sewer rat, or maybe a hardened criminal who got a little too ambitious—someone tough who’d rather fight me than cry about it.
That kind of thing I’m prepared for. This, not so much.
It’s not that I’ve never seen a person cry after spending some unwanted time with me, but they’re usually in a lot of pain by that point. I’ve never had someone burst into tears before I’ve laid a finger on them.
I have the strangest urge to pull her close and give her a hug, but I can’t do that while I’m driving down the road, so I have to let her cry it out on her own.
She sobs quietly for several long, painful minutes. I wish I knew what to say, but while I comforted my sisters plenty when they were kids, I never encountered a scenario like this one—and if I had, I wouldn’t have been reassuring them at home, I’d have been out finding the asshole who thought he could kidnap my fucking sister and teaching him a lesson in how wrong he was.
Autumn doesn’t have a brother to protect her, though. She doesn’t have anyone.
Now she has me, but first we have to get through this uncomfortable adjustment stage of her accepting that she’s mine now. I’m ripping her out of the life she used to lead and giving her a whole new one—that was bound to hurt a little.
Her breath hitches and she sniffles as she starts to settle down. She reaches into her purse and draws out a little rectangular package of tissues. She takes one out and daintily pats at her pretty face, trying to absorb all the tears.
I hate making her so sad. I feel like a real prick, but I don’t know how to make it better.
“Why me?” She sniffs, swiping at her nose with another tissue before turning her big, sad eyes on me. Her nose is all red, her cheeks blotchy from crying. “I didn’t do anything to you. Why did it have to be me?”
“Fate,” I tell her, reaching over and patting her hand.
She glares at me and turns away. Under her breath, I hear her mutter, “Fuck fate and you.”
So I guess she’s mad.
She has plenty of time to cool down as I drive along the interstate. It’s mostly empty but for the occasional car and a few semis. The first time we pass a car, I catch Autumn sitting up, suddenly alert as it occurs to her maybe she can signal someone for help as we’re driving by. It’s too dark for anyone to see her clearly, but anytime I have to pass a car, I speed up anyway, just to be safe.
That’s not the only plan my pretty little travel companion comes up with, either. Since I haven’t taken her phone—no need to, it’s a brick until I turn off the jammer—she must think I forgot she had it. She can’t call the ex-boyfriend or any other standard phone number, but she must know that all phones can call 911 whether they have service or not. She slides the phone between her thighs and steals a glance in my direction. Then she peels off one of her gloves and covertly places her hand over it. I peek over to see what she’s up to and see her with the keypad open, trying to dial 9-1-1.